


This Is The Way, The Only Way

by Dana



Series: Without You, What Would I Be? [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: First Time, M/M, More Feels, More Fluff, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person, Post-Game, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Soft Character Interactions, There's some dancing in chapter 2, domestics and more domestics, everything is too good to be true, more of these two being grossly and helplessly in love, second times and thirds etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-08 11:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15242547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: Connor has, perhaps, not been completely straight-forward with Hank.  Hank, in turn, doesn't really mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks, I've recently fallen for these two and this is my first fic - hopefully it's not the last, I've got lots of things I still want to do with them. Hope you enjoy, thanks!

One of these days you're going to stop reacting to those things Connor says just to get a rise out of you. Until then, it's a little like you're walking on continually thin ice, never knowing when you're going to lose your footing (and knowing Connor, the little shit might even get a laugh out of it). You never know what he's going to _say_ , even with his LED flashing a constant reminder – and some of those things come straight out of left field and knock the brain right out of your head. 

He might be an android but he's also a deviant with a twisted sense of humor (and mostly, that suits you just fine.) And sure, he still has that fucking awful habit of licking things at crime scenes – seeing as it's how it's one of his basic design features, you're not sure he'll ever break out of that.

So he thinks he's a funny little shit and some of the time, you have to concede. It's a good thing – it means he's his own own android, his own _person_. Still an analytical, pedantic plastic prick when he really wants to drive you crazy, but you're old enough to know yourself. Know your weaknesses. And your biggest weakness these days is the RK800 named Connor, with a capital C. You want to protect him from the world, protect him from himself. God knows he needs it.

Like he doesn't sometimes make you feel useless beyond your years. Like he doesn't sometimes make you feel like you've finally done the right thing.

Standing outside a closed-down Chicken Feed in the dead of winter, you'd hugged Connor to you, hadn't wanted to let go. He'd insinuated himself into your life without you even seeing it happening, and you cared for him a lot more than you'd at first thought possible. Because at first, it had been impossible – you hated androids, after all (at least, that's what you said). It was also just you seeing what you wanted to see. You'd always known it was that fucking human surgeon's fault for what happened to Cole, but it had been too fucking easy to blame the android who'd at least tried to save his life. And Connor, on that cold grey day at the end of everything, had hugged you in return. Maybe it was another of his programmed responses – or maybe it was just what he felt was the right thing to do. He was feeling a lot right then, it was all so new to him – you've talked about it a lot since then, because you wanted to know more, and Connor had so much to say. Becoming a deviant had opened up an entirely new can of worms for him to deal with. Feelings and emotions did have a way to screw a person up.

Then you'd told him, if he didn't have anywhere else to stay, he could come home with you.

He'd drawn back, LED flashing cool blue as he smiled.

Of course he'd said yes.

It's a day like any other, about six months or so after the end of Markus's peaceful revolution. The public opinion is still overwhelmingly in support of pro-androids rights, and plenty of new laws have been instated – you did worry about it at the start, that Connor, since he was an extra special prototype, would be held above those laws. That one day CyberLife would show up on your doorstep and demand he be returned.

Yeah, whatever. Over your dead body.

And while Connor did sometimes spend a weekend or so away from yours, doing things with Markus or Jericho, he always came back to you. Since he liked being a detective so much, after the proper laws had been passed and instated, he went back to working for the DPD full-time, this time without CyberLife pulling his strings; he'd said it had a little to do with you, you really did make a good team. And CyberLife, for the better, was now a mostly android-run business that was putting out constant quality of life updates and upgrades for androids all across the globe; in a way, it seemed too good to be true.

But one of Connor's favorites, he'd said, was the one that changed his stand-by mode into something a little closer to actual human sleep; the one that had let him dream.

You liked having Connor around – a whole fucking lot – so just as soon as he'd started sleeping on the couch, going into stand-by in the living room and waking before dawn, whenever the topic of him moving out and finding his own place popped up, you always found a way to change the subject. So he was still searching himself, trying to figure things out – he wanted some place to belong, so why not with you? And Connor, he's a smart cookie, he had to see what you were up to. But you were a greedy old bastard, and you didn't know what you'd do. If he wasn't there any more, if he left. You knew what you were like on your own, and so did he. You wanted him to be there. It was hard, sure, but he gave you a reason to try to be better. He reminded you that there was a life worth living out there, all you had to do was try.

You had a lot of other excuses for it, really, but mostly it boiled down to – to Sumo, of course. Why break the old dog's heart by having Connor move out? Sometimes you were sure the dog liked Connor more than he liked you anyway.

Really, that's all it fucking was. Not because he made you feel something other than the apathetic drunk you'd been before he found you, one who'd lost everything and was consumed by anger, grief and despair, one who had an unhealthy obsession with Russian roulette. Maybe you'd always wanted him to be more than he was programmed to be – in some ways, he'd always seemed a little more human than any other android off the street; even, no, especially when he was driving you fucking crazy. Give him an order, and watch him break it. And maybe –

You were dead inside, you'd been dead inside a long fucking time. Maybe Connor's the one who'd helped to bring you back to life.

You sigh. ...fucking Evanescence.

Anyhow, the point was, Sumo really liked having him around. And yeah, so did you.

And Connor, well, he's had a good impact on your life. So you're drinking a little bit less, and you're going on walks with him and Sumo, and sometimes on Sundays, when you'd rather be sleeping, he talks you into going on early morning jogs. You think it's because he's trying to kill you, only, no, he's doing what he can to make sure you live as long as you can. He seems to like being around you. He _really_ seems to like doing things to make your life a little less like a living hell. He doesn't have to cook for you, or clean for you, or anything else – but you think that comes back down to him trying to figure things out. He used to have a purpose, a prime directive – but thanks, in part to you, it's gone. So no wonder he wanted to go back to being a detective. No wonder he said yes when you asked him to come home.

How do you deserve a friend like him?

You're still a grumpy old bastard, some things aren't ever going to change. It definitely comes with the territory – it's definitely a side effect of the job. And the work, it's never been harder – there's peace since the revolution, but it's as delicate as spun glass. There's of course those small-minded bastards who don't see why a good thing should have to change; the laws might say one thing but violence is a basic part of human nature. There's plenty of human on android hate-crime (just like there's still plenty of androids who hate the humans who had once been their masters).

You're hardly the biggest prick at the DPD – Reed's still the jerkiest jerk you've ever known. He's insinuated plenty about yours and Connor's living arrangements, and one of these days, you're gonna teach that fucking bastard a lesson. He doesn't know what he's talking about.

Sometimes, sure, maybe you'd _wished_ about it. Just that. Well, maybe a few times, a little more than just wishing about it had happened. But it wasn't something you ever planned on telling Connor. 

But, back to Connor saying things right out of the fucking blue (that's not completely true – really, he gives you a little bit a warning, but then, _boom_ ). It was Sunday, what was turning into one long, lazy, comfortable afternoon, and you didn't have to go back to work until Tuesday. You were sitting on the couch in a loose shirt and your boxers, with Sumo flopped over your lap. You had a cold beer in one hand, the game was blaring on the television, and you were scritching behind Sumo's ears. As Connor sat down to your left, Sumo let out a soft 'boof' and the android smiled, LED glowing a content blue as he reached over to pat the dog's head.

'Hank, there's something I'd to talk to you about.'

'Go for it, Connor,' you say, tipping your beer back to take a drink.

Connor frowns, LED flashing yellow. 'It's important. It's – I don't really know.'

You liked it when he was uncertain. Hesitancy added an element of warmth, of humanity, you wondered sometimes if that pleased him too. You sit your beer to the side, mute the game, and turn your head to look at him and give him your full attention. Well, other than the dog that was dead asleep across your lap. He was sleeping deeply now, twitching as he dreamt. You patted his head fondly. 'Don't think the old mutt's going anywhere.'

Connor was still smiling, still hesitant. 'That's fine.'

He relaxes some as your attention focuses on him, but he's still wound up, tense. He's been a real mess at times – at not knowing where he should go, or what he should do to fit in, panicking over every little thing. He's come a long way in the last six months. Sometimes, you're sure he's more human that you. Sure as hell smarter than you've ever been.

'Well,' you say, 'what's up?'

He nods, biting at his bottom lip – just where he'd picked up that habit, you didn't fucking know – only then he was smiling, a bit more at ease. He was dressed comfortably as well, in one of your old shirts (it was way too big on him, but he liked it because of that) and some sweats he'd picked up at a thrift store (he'd developed a thing for thrift stores, and potted plants, amongst other things). Used to be, you couldn't imagine him out of his prim and proper uniform – and no, well, maybe not all the time anyhow, you didn't mean it like _that_ – but he looked pretty good, all softly mussed and comfortable.

'So, we're friends.'

You blink – judging by the tone of his voice, it's not like he was asking a question. 'Yeah, we are.' Half a year ago, the man you used to be, he'd have laughed at that and called it for the bullshit it was – but you've grown, you've changed. And so has he.

Connor's LED was back to yellow, spinning hypnotically. 'Ah, well. I was wondering… well, I've been doing extensive research and, I, well…' He did something he didn't do too often, which was blush, pale pink and totally human. If the lighting was exactly right, and his LED was flashing the right color, it made him look ethereal – downright inhuman, which, well, that was actually what he was. 'This is ridiculous. I shouldn't feel so nervous.'

But he did, in fact, feel nervous, LED still flickering rapidly, fingers tapping restlessly against his legs. It was a real struggle for him, but it made him all the more _real_. All the feelings and emotions he still endeavoured to comprehend, because they were all so fucking new to him. It was precious and endearing but, when he got extra flustered, could still be annoying as all hell.

A little like right now. 'Just spit it out, Connor.' Your eyes stray back towards the game before snapping back onto him.

And well, Connor, he took the bait. 'I'd like us to become – ah, I believe the term is, friends with benefits.'

You're glad he got you to put your beer to the side, because if you had been taking a drink of it right then, you're sure you would have spit it right back into his face. 'What??' Sumo gives a startled woof as he wakes, and flops down heavily onto the floor, pawing away into the kitchen (you hear him circle round a few times before dropping back down onto the floor). You twist sideways as you lean backwards, bracing one hand against the cushion to get a better look at Connor as he leans in closer, licking his lips.

'Please, Lieutenant – I really hope you consider my proposal. We're friends already.' He tilts his head to the side, winks. 'Why can't we be something more?'

_I'm whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant._

At the time, that sure as hell hadn't been what he'd _meant_.

'Just where the fuck did this come from?' You nearly groan, running a hand across your face – you're much warmer than what you'd been just a moment before. 'And for the love of God, you're asking me to have sex you, Connor – the least you can do is call me Hank.' The thought, really, doesn't startle you as much as it should – just, at the same fucking time, it doesn't make _sense_.

His lips, supple and soft, twitch into the semblance of a smile. 'Hank.'

You shiver, but you're not sure why. It's not like he's never called you by name before, but maybe it's just that sort of day. New doors to open, new destinations to consider, things looking to change in ways you'd never really imagined. You've tried not to think of Connor as a sexual being, because you'd thought he'd think it something base and crude, something beneath him – and you, being only human, sometimes you'd failed. Because he's beautiful, he's always been beautiful. Smart, and sassy. Doesn't know how to listen to a fucking order, even if his life depended on it. He's still prone to taking unnecessary risks, like he doesn't even matter. But he does.

He does.

Never stopped you, those times, from wondering if the rest of his body was dusted with light freckles. Because you wanted to make a map of his skin, you didn't want to let him go.

You don't know what to make of it, because you're the washed up, deadbeat detective with a beer belly and he's an absolutely gorgeous, state of the art android. You've wanted to respect him and his agency, you've never wanted to use him.

This can't be real.

So you're a little at a loss. He sets his hand down on your knee, and something hot runs through you – it impacts directly with your dick, making it twitch to life. You haven't been wanted in a very long time, but the longing in his eyes is another open door, and the way he squeezes your kneecap makes heat flutter across your skin and roll about in your gut. You could push him away. You could get up and go into your bedroom, slam the door behind you. Or you could sit here, and find out what the fucking hell he's even on.

'You can't be serious? What could you possibly see in a cranky old bastard like me?'

'Oh, Hank.' Connor's expression softens as he smiles. 'You're my friend and I trust you – isn't this something you should do with a person you trust?'

'I mean, sure, but look at the Eden Club – if you're just looking for someone to fuck you, you could find someone a helluva lot better looking than me.' It wasn't the only sex club still going strong after the revolution was over – and now, being that most of them were now android owned and catered to more than humans looking for a cheap, easy fuck with someone who wouldn't say no, if Connor wanted to hook up with another android who was interested in learning all about the robot birds and bees, it was the perfect place for him to go.

Connor frowns, shakes his head. 'What do you mean?'

'I…' You gesture to your beer gut. 'I'm not exactly top model.'

Still frowning, Connor reaches out and gently sets his hand down on your gut – you suck in a breath as he does. 'I think you are very handsome, Hank Anderson. I don't want someone else – android, or human. I want to share this experience with you.'

You flush a little bit hotter. 'I don't get it.'

'I've run several simulations,' he states, matter of factly. 'I'm certain you'd enjoy yourself.'

'Whatever,' you huff, because he just doesn't get it, running a hand back through your hair. 'So you want me to fuck you and for some stupid reason you think I'm handsome and oh yeah, you're sure I'm gonna enjoy myself. But what about _you_?'

'Ah, well.' He looks a little flustered, and once more there's pale pink tinting his cheeks as he rubs his hands together. 'That's what I'd like to find out.'

'Connor – ' Your heart's trying to claw its way up your throat. You feel a little dizzy, you need something to drink. You grab for your beer but miss it by a mile, knocking it down onto the floor with a whoosh and a klunk. You're both staring down at it, Connor's LED flickering from yellow to blue and back again. But then you've gone back to making eye contact, and you can't break away.

He draws back, hand leaving its place atop your knee, and you lean forward but it's a balancing act – one that causes the sofa to groan as you shift about. He stares at you, LED gone fully yellow as it spins. 'Your heart-rate has quickened by 20 BPM. Your core temperature has risen by two degrees. You're blushing.' He grins as he sets his hand down on your knee again, giving it an even firmer squeeze; even at his sassiest, this takes some sort of cake. You can't even tell him off for analyzing you, he knows how you hate it (not that it makes him stop). 'And judging by the reaction in your boxer shorts… You do not seem at all turned off by the idea.'

'Connor,' you whisper. Your mouth's gone dry, your tongue's gone useless and heavy. You don't know what to fucking _say_.

He draws his hand away again, presses it to the other in front of his chest. 'But I do not want to push you into something you are not ready to approach – I can wait as long as you need me to, Hank. I – '

'But why _me_?'

His LED whirls, like he hasn't answered that question already. Then he blinks, looks honestly surprised. So maybe he wants you but you clearly doesn't get why that's a thing, and it's only registering. 'You're my closest friend, Hank. You are the person, whether human or android, that I care about most. I… I see, sometimes, how you look at me when you think I do not notice. And I look at you, Hank, all the time.'

'So you've got some low-key stalking tendencies…' You cough. You really don't know where you're trying to go with that, but he's starting to stand up and you feel like panicking – you can't let that happen. Your hand darts out to grab him by the wrist, and he stops, blinks, stares down at you, LED gone yellow again.

'Yes?'

'All the time?'

'Yes.'

'But...'

You shake your head. You haven't felt this ridiculously scared over _nothing_ in a very long time, but what Connor's offering you – well, it sure as fuck ain't nothing, _he's_ not nothing. But you don't know if he knows what he wants, and you still don't get why the fuck he'd pick you. And you want it, too, it's got you running hot – but no matter what, you just don't want to take advantage of him, of what he's offering.

'Hank?'

You shake your head again, lost. 'I don't know.'

His mouth twitches at the corner, but he sits back down. You let go of him, but he sets his hand back down upon your knee. Smiles. Leans in close, closer, lashes lowered as he bites at his bottom lip. 'You needn't worry, Lieu – Hank. It doesn't have to be anything serious – ah, a casual one night stand, perhaps, if you are not looking for something more? But no matter what, I am beyond certain it is you I want learn from, in this matter. Please.'

'C-Connor,' you stutter, groaning, his hand sliding up your leg, hitching up the edge of your boxers. Casual your ass.

And he slants a look at you from beneath those dark lashes, and you nearly have a heart attack. You haven't been so hard in fucking ages, and that _look_ – so is this a bit of programming you hadn't ever taken into account? A seduction sub-routine? He was made to negotiate, to get what he wanted, and now he's offering you all _you've_ ever wanted – 

Fuck, if Reed found out about this, he'd never shut up.

But, at least Connor had come to you instead of Gavin. Hell.

Of course, even though things in general had settled down, maybe even warmed up, some things were still fucking frigid. You definitely couldn't call the two of them friends.

Fucking shit, shit, shit. Stop thinking about _Reed_.

He tugs gently on the edge of your boxer shorts. 'I could at least, perhaps, deal with the problem I've already caused?'

'Slow down there, kid – '

'I've gone remarkably slow already, Hank. I suppose it's always possible I could be misinterpreting the signals I've been reading, but if you seriously aren't interested in going along with my proposal, you're allowed to say no.'

He eases back, but his eyes are still dark and deep, his cheeks are flushed with color. You reach out without really thinking about what you're doing, cup your hand against the back of his neck and pull him in close. The kiss, or what goes for it, is a lot like two opposing forces crashing together – Connor doesn't think to open his mouth, fuck, what does he even know about kissing?

He balances himself on both your legs now, one hand on your knee, the other on your thigh, and you nip at his bottom lip, gently sucking it into your mouth. He shudders against you as his eyes slip shut, one of his hands quickly moving to your upper arm, giving it a tight squeeze.

'Not too sure how I'm gonna preform,' you mutter, 'it's been a while, Connor.'

Connor draws back, tilts his head to the side – quizzically, but a smile takes hold of his lips. 'I'm sure you'll do an admirable job no matter what, Hank.'

He pulls back completely as you blush all over, head to fucking toe, and then he's given up all semblance of patience as he climbs into your lap. 'Just,' you say, as you slide a hand down to his hip, giving it a squeeze. 'Tell me what you like, tell me what you don't like.'

He tucks his face in close, simulated breath warm against the crook of your neck. 'I'm sure I'll like everything, Hank – ' it's so fucking matter of fact, and he nuzzles at your neck before giving it a long, slow lick (now you're the one who's shuddering as you groan) ' – it's you. And this is where I want to be. This is what I want.'

He sounds so self-assured, so proud of himself. And why shouldn't he? It's still new enough that he gets to want anything at all, that he's actually considered a person of his own. And he's warm enough to feel alive, warm all over, his own hardness pressing against your belly as he shifts about – legs to the right and left of yours, straddling your lap as he _moves_. He presses his face in close, nuzzling his cheek against your jaw, your beard. 'You feel amazing. Everything is so new.'

He sounds a little breathless.

You turn to look at him, press your lips to his cheek. Kiss your way back to his mouth. He's smooth, so smooth, perfect imperfections scattered across his skin. As he opens his mouth to yours, his lower lip trembling, you wonder just what research he's done to get to this point, because his execution so far is fucking flawless.

You wonder how much more he's got hidden up his sleeves.

You lick at his mouth, all the way around it. He tastes a little like nothing, but it's not unpleasant. Just as you think that, Connor lets out a small breath, trembling all over. 'Oh, _Lieutenant_ – I love how you taste.'

Love. It's like a light flicking on inside your head, finding a name for the nameless. 'And what do I taste like,' you ask, hotly, and you press your mouth to his and kiss him with all you've got. His LED goes a thoughtful yellow as he kisses you in earnest, as you give his hip a harder squeeze, as you run your hand up into hair that's impossibly soft. He wriggles about on top of you, hand on your neck, other against your chest – the little shit might just be monitoring your heartbeat. You can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. But it's like you're connected – connected in more ways than one – and you'd have to stop kissing him anyway, so fuck that.

He doesn't answer you for a while, not as you kiss, and stop, and shift about, and kiss some more. 'Like the spaghetti bolognese I made you for lunch. Like hops, and barley. Like – all the chemicals that make you you.'

That probably shouldn't sound as hot as all that. But it does. You pull him close, tugging on his hair and trying to get deeper into his mouth, and he groans into you as his body grinds against yours. 'Please, please,' he says, dazed – LED gone yellow, eyes gone a little blank. 'The foreplay is admirable, but hardly necessary. Hank, please – '

You chuckle, breathless. And here you've been taking it slow and steady because you don't want to startle him, you wanted this to be what he wants. 'If we're doing this,' you start, only then he rocks against you, grinding down against your straining erection. You buck up with as you curse, feel the cushion slip beneath you, and then the whole worlds tumbling on edge

You hit the ground first, and Connor hits you with a grunt, and as lukewarm beer soaks into the arm of your shirt, you throw your head back and laugh. He untangles his legs from yours, pressing up one arm, confusion etched onto his features as he gazes down on you. He looks a little disappointed.

'What's so funny?'

'Nothing – everything. I don't fucking know.' Your head is fucking spinning. 'Let's go to the bedroom, I'm too old for any of this shit.'

Connor climbs to his feet, extends his hand to you, and easily helps you up. You teeter forward and knock into him, but he steadies you with a hand on your hip. 'This really isn't going the way I'd thought it would go,' he murmurs, leaning into you and tilting his mouth to yours.

You kiss him until you're feeling it in burning in your lungs, you must be going blue. You break off, take a deep breath, take him by the hand and pulling him with you as you start walking backwards. 'This is ridiculous, Hank.' But there's a twitch at the corner of his lips and he makes sure you don't run into the door frame as you guide the both of yourselves into the room.

It's darker inside. You let go of his hand to shrug out of your soaked shirt, and his eyes widen as you find yourself blushing all over again. 'What?' you snap.

He steps in closer, smiling so softly, so sweetly, you could almost forget the sting he really has. 'I like looking at you, Hank. There's no one I'd rather be with, right now, other than you.'

'Good thing then,' you grouse. 'Cause you're getting just what you want.'

His smile turns sheepish as he reaches down to hook his fingers under the bottom edge of the shirt he's wearing. 'Go on then,' you say, reaching out to touch his cheek, his skin hotter than ever beneath your fingertips. 'Start taking it off.'

He bites at the tip of his tongue as his LED flickers from blue to yellow, and then he's moving, stripping the shirt off in one fluid motion (you even moved your hand to the side so you wouldn't get in the way). You've not had too many chances to see him without a shirt on, even though you've been living together. _Living together – fuck_. If you'd known this was whirring around inside his head, you could have invited him to your bedroom a lot fucking sooner.

But he looks perfect, inhumanly so. He takes an unneeded breath as you stroke your hand down from his jaw, across his chest, tweaking a nipple just to see what he does. 'You're supposed to be telling me what you like.'

He shudders, again biting at his lip. 'I liked that – and the kissing. I just want you to touch me. Please.'

It's needy and it hits you where you're weakest. You draw and arm around him, and pull him down with you onto your unmade bed. You bounce once and roll onto your back, drawing him on top of you. His legs slide to the side, knees braced to the mattress, hands planted down beside your head. You slide your hands up his back and he arches into it, leaning his head back. 'Hank.'

'Connor.'

He closes his eyes as you stroke his back, but one hand strokes lower. As he pushes against you you slide that hand beneath the waistband of his sweats, and Connor jolts beneath you, above you. His ass is, as you squeeze it, absolutely perfect, and you tell him as much.

He chuckles, cheeks flushing with color. 'That's exactly what I was hoping you'd say.'

You smirk up at him as his lashes flutter. 'Please – '

You pause, fingers touching something cool and damp. 'What the hell is that? Did you already get yourself ready?'

Now he's smirking down at you, even as he groans. 'Something like that. I'm self-lubricating – ' See, that's what you mean by those things he says that knock the brain from your head, and this time, send all the blood in your body rushing to your dick. 'Sorry, it never came up in conversation before.'

'You fucking asshole.'

'I'd like you to fuck mine, yes – '

You roll him to the side, jerking his pants down to reveal his dripping cock. The pre-come is the palest of blues. He ducks his head aside as you gaze upon him, reaching out to stroke your fingers up the length of his shaft. 'You're beautiful.'

'It's the way I was made.' He sounds a little uncomfortable, voice tight and tense.

'You okay?'

'Please don't stop.' He bites at his lower lip, shuts his eyes tightly, as you stroke him boldly with one hand. He has no pubes, he's perfectly smooth down there. But at least he's better equipped than a Ken doll.

He pants, groaning as you work him. He lolls to the side, on his back now, and you move on top of him, bracing yourself up with one hand and stroking him with the other. His eyes are still closed. He'd working his lip like he means to tear it open. He's the prettiest thing you've ever seen. You don't exactly get how you deserve any of this.

'Can you come?'

'I'm close,' is the answer he gives you. His chest his heaving, his fingers are clutching at the blanket beneath him. 'Please, Hank, please don't stop. This is perfect.'

If he thinks this is perfect, you plan on it getting a whole lot better.

A jolt goes through him, an electric surge. He bucks up into your hand and spurts of synthetic ejaculate cover your hand. He blinks, dazed and blushing, as you draw that hand up to your mouth, suck two fingers into your mouth. He tastes a little like nothing, again, but – yet again – it's not unpleasant.

He smiles up at you, eyes half-lidded. 'Let me have a taste?'

His tongue curls around the finger you offer him. You groan and your dick twitches in your shorts. 'Connor.'

His eyes blink open, and he smirks. 'Now you can't complain when I put evidence in my mouth.'

'Geez, thanks for reminding me. I hope you've washed it out recently.'

'My synthetic saliva refreshes itself and is constantly sanitising my mouth.'

You blink, shake your head. Honestly, your boner's going down. 'That's really more than I ever wanted to know.'

'You're the one who asked.'

Hey, he's right.

He turns the tables as he grabs you by the hip, by the arm, and flips you onto your back. You push yourself up to your elbows as he slips backwards, disappearing over the side of the bed before reappearing as he kneels. 'Hi.' He smiles at you, sweetly, even as he leans forward, eyeing the bulge in your shorts. 'I feel like putting something else in my mouth.'

You really want to tell him you're not so sure how good an idea that is – you don't know how long you're going to last, you're really too old for this shit – but he takes hold of your boxers and pulls them down. You lift yourself up, helping instead of hindering. His hand, as it palms over your erection, feels smooth and _hot_ , and you throw your head back as you moan.

'Connor.'

His mouth, it turns out, feels a whole lot better than even that.

He sucks with an eagerness that belies his innocence, but really, just how innocent is he really? You manage to get one of your hands down to his head, hair fisted lightly in your grip, and he takes you in fully – no gag reflex, then, so CyberLife is a company of fucking perverts – and you already feel the tightness growing in your balls, your breaths are coming a little too short.

'Connor, please – fuck it, I can't – '

He draws off you with a _pop_ , and you let your body flop backwards, throwing both your hands to the side. 'Jesus,' you groan, staring at the ceiling. 'I'm dying.'

'That's not funny.' You feel the bed shift about as he climbs back up onto it, climbs back up on top of you. 'I want to feel you inside me – are you ready for that, Hank?'

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly. 'I really don't know.'

'Don't worry.' You hear a rustle, the bed shifting about, and he softly presses a kiss to your lips. 'I'll go easy on you.'

'You fucking jerk – '

He laughs. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. More smooth skin slides against yours, and he adjusts himself atop you, straddling you as he pitches himself forwards. His hands are solid against your chest, and you gaze up at him in amazement and wonder. The freckles go all the way down his chest, a light dusting of them across his hips. You're supposed to be asking him what he likes, you need to remember this all for later. But all you can manage is a weak, 'What even are you?'

He tilts his head to the side, lips twitching into a smile. 'My name is Connor, I'm the android formerly sent by CyberLife. And now, I think the saying is, get ready for me to rock your world.'

'Con – '

He reaches backwards to take hold of your dick. You bite at your lip as he pushes backwards, and hell, you slip right in, easy as anything. He feels fucking amazing, hot and tight all around you, and you get a hand on one of his arms, the other one clawing at his bare hip.

'Connor,' you choke out.

His eyes are closed, his lips are parted. 'I like this a lot.'

You gaze up at him, feeling the room close in around you. You've never felt so _close_ to him before. You hadn't thought it was possible. You grab at his hip so hard, you're sure a human would have been left with bruises. But he's far more sturdy, silicone instead of skin.

He keeps on leaning, back arching as he balances himself, both of his hands braced on your knees. 'This feels amazing,' he murmurs, voice gone throaty. 'You feel amazing.

'Just be gentle with me,' you tease.

He rocks forward experimentally, and you hiss out a breath.

'Is that alright?'

'Yes,' you moan.

He shifts a little forwards, changes the angle, enhances the pressure. 'How about this?'

'Just get on with it.'

'I'm going to get on with it,' he says as he squeezes your knees to balance himself, easing upwards as his LED glows that cool, calm blue.

'Fucking _finally_ ,' you spit out, words twisting into a harsh moan as he slams himself back down on your dick. You're having trouble seeing straight and his LED is whirling in flickers of yellow and red. 'Connor?'

'I'm alright. That was… that was also nice.'

'Thought you were going to go easy on me?' you murmur throatily as he begins to set the pace, up, down, clenching all around you. 'You're gonna fucking – hell – break me, Connor.'

'That might have been a falsehood,' he says with half a smirk, tipping his head back as he lets out a moan. 'But I won't break you, I could never – ' More moaning as he rides you harder. ' _Never_.'

You wish he were closer – you want to kiss him. And Connor, well, it's not like he can actually read your mind. But he says, voice close to gravelly as he shakes and bumps and grinds, 'This is – this is n-nice – b-but I think I n-need m-more – '

You've never heard him stutter like that. He's calm and collected and never, ever, wantonly riding you like it's the end of the world. You try to catch your breath as he slides off of you, rolling to the side – and you follow him, grabbing for him and pressing your mouth to his. 'Come on, Hank,' he says between kisses. 'Try to do some of the work.'

'You fucking bastard.'

He smirks, eyes half-lidded, LED flicking between yellow and blue as he gazes at you, gently smiling. 'I love you.' He seems as shocked as you do by what he's said, but what's done is done, and you press in to kiss him again, harder, deeper, tangling a hand in his hair. You break away, yellow at his temple as you rearrange yourself, and him as well. You pull him over to you, spread his legs wide over yours. You rub your hands up and down his thighs, your heart ready to beat out of your chest as you tell yourself to calm down, just breathe, _calm down_.

Those words aren't easy. But you make eye contact with him, nodding – and his mouth, at the corner, twitches into a smile as you get a good grip on him and pull him flush against you, sliding back into him. 'Oh!'

Do some of the work, he'd said. Oh, you'll give him all you've got. The angle is better and now you can lean, lean some more, and kiss him as you fuck him. He gets an arm up around your shoulders, tangles the other in your hair, and as you slam into him he jolts around you, clenching tighter, headboard knocking against the wall at your combined enthusiasm. Connor's breathing harder, even though it's unneeded. He's yanking on your hair and as he wraps his legs around you, and as you break away from kissing him, and he throws his head back, LED flashing a steady red.

You start to slow down, but he shakes his head desperately as he squeezes your shoulder. 'No, no, don't stop, p-please.' So, you don't stop. You keep on going even though you feel like your whole body is going to explode, but as you continue, the room narrows and continues to narrow until all that exists is you and him. There's sweat slick on your brow, it's running down your back, and his face is twisted up in such intense pleasure, you don't want it to stop. He trembles as he bucks up, comes in great goopy spurts, some of it splattering on your chest. You can't take it any more, your rhythm's gone all the hell, and you thrust a few more times, filling him up as you come.

You're shaking as you pull out of him, losing your balance and flopping to the side. You throw a hand up over your face as the breaths rip out of you, your chest is aching, you feel like you've run a marathon and are two seconds away from passing out. 'Connor?'

He doesn't say anything. Summoning all your remaining strength, you push up onto one arm and gaze down at him. His LED goes from a worrisome solid red, to flickering from red to yellow, and he shakes his head as he opens his eyes as it flashes a steady yellow. 'Oh.'

'Just oh? Hey, are you alright?'

He nods slowly. 'Some of my systems were at risk of shutting down. They've stabilised, so please, there's no need for you to be concerned.'

'Yeah,' you huff, 'now you're just pulling my leg. It couldn't have possibly been that good.'

He lets out a weary chuckle as he rolls onto his side, curling in on himself as he presses in close to you. 'It was, in fact, that good.'

His breathing softens as you settle down beside him, curling around him protectively. It's dark outside. He'll go into sleep-mode, and maybe you'll be able to get some rest as well. You'll talk about this tomorrow, or you won't.

 _I love you_ , he'd said, with no reservations.

'I should make you some dinner.'

'Not hungry,' you say, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

You can see enough of his face as he smiles. 'Now that's a lie.'

'All tuckered out, Connor.'

He tilts his head to the side, smiling brightly in the dim light. 'I'm still not not sure I believe you, Lieutenant.'

You suppress a groan, can't stop yourself from smiling. Hell, you're suddenly glad you don't have to go into tomorrow, you'd be a complete wreck. 'How many times do I have to tell you, call me Hank.'

'You'll have to tell me at least once more,' he replies with a cheeky grin, LED a content blue.

You try to get comfortable, but you're a mess, and so is he. 'You're quite restless,' he says, when you were sure he'd gone into sleep-mode already. 'Perhaps a shower is in order? That might help you settle down.'

'How about a bath? Together.'

'Together? Yes,' he says, after a thoughtful pause, the sweetest of smiles, 'I like the sound of that.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan on writing this, but then Things Just Happened.
> 
> Please enjoy ha ha

The bath is sure to prove to be a tight fit, but Connor insists it's worth any discomfort, as though he's done this sort of thing before – but looking at the amount of forethought that went into him planning your seduction, who the fuck even knows.

'I want to be close to you, Lieutenant,' he says, like that's just the sort of thing a person would _do_ , awkward and a little unreal; and again, because it's Connor, it makes all the sense in the world. This is a whole new layer of _new_ for him to work through, after all, and for whatever reason –

_I love you._

– he wants to share it with you.

'It's another new experience that I will be sharing with you. It's sure to be memorable.' And sure, maybe it's a little awkwardly said, maybe, but it still feels right. Connor feels right. Just how long had he thought about it all? Just how long had he wanted this, wanted _you_ – kisses, and soft touches, and _sex_.

Because you're still having trouble wrapping your head around the concept. He wants you – he wants _you_.

'Memorable?' Memorable. He's got plenty of free memory, after all – terabytes, if it's to be believed, and why the fuck would he lie about that sort of thing? He'd mentioned it before, once, a few months ago, but you hadn't really thought about it since them. Now you're thinking about all the things he sees, and you feel your cheeks burning because now you're the one who's blushing. You've never asked him what merited being recorded, but now you're curious to find out. You wonder if he'd… earlier, you mean, and all…. Ah, _fuck_.

And he smiles at you, with an edge of cheekiness. _Memorable_. One more thing he said just to get a rise out of you, and it worked.

He asks if you're sure you want a bath instead of a shower. You side eye the mirror and its arrangement of sticky notes – some of them from yours truly, but a few of them are written in Connor's perfectly steady hand, CyberLife sans font. Reminders to smile more, to drink less, to not punch Gavin in the face even when you _really_ want to. Reminders to walk Sumo in the morning, reminders to go to bed before 2 in the fucking morning.

Notes from Connor, too. The tooth achingly sweet inspirational quotes that were all the rage thirty years ago, the ones you know by heart and had honestly been a little sick of. But because they were from Connor, and this was Connor's house now as much as it was yours, even though he hardly used the bathroom nearly as much you did, they stayed.

'A bath is fine, whatever.'

He nods, and turns away.

And you think, sure, it makes sense – his request, his desire to be close, to share more new experiences with you; maybe you've already been closer than humanly possible, but it's not like he's actually _human_ , as much as he's alive. He is what he is – doesn't lessen him. No, somehow, you feel like he's really digging at the bottom of barrel, saying he's attracted to you.

You're feeling a little fucked up by the knot of anxiety in your gut, like a nervous teenager hesitating before their first kiss. But you've kissed already – you've done a lot more than that. The worry had been close to nothing in the dim of your bedroom, you'd been – you glance at Connor, as he shoves his fingers beneath the running water, manually adjusting the temperature until it's Just Right. At the time, your thoughts had been occupied by something else, someone else. How he'd ended up in your bed in the first place. Like some sort of fucking dream.

Anyhow, that shirt needed to come off, didn't matter what else had been going on at the time. It was still damp, and you'd started to smell like old, cheap beer. Not that Connor would be bothered by the smell, but it still made you feel like a drunken old slob.

So after getting back out of bed, you'd thrown on an old band shirt on and some shorts, to cross the hallway into the bathroom. Connor had followed along after you, still absolutely nude, effortlessly graceful in all of that synthetic skin, and fuck's sake, you couldn't stop staring. The bathroom had better lighting, and you get an eyeful of that perfection every time you look his way, because he's stooped down beside the bathtub and you're a shameless fucking bastard who can't stop ogling his absolutely perfect ass. CyberLife hadn't skimped on anything when it came to him.

And you're still just you, and the uncertainty is an unreachable itch that's creeping across your skin, no, slightly under it, where you sure as hell can't reach.

'Lieutenant?'

'Hank.'

'Ah, yes. Hank?' He smiles, god, why had they made him so pretty? 'The water is ready, I'm sure you'll find the temperature to your liking.'

He wants to be close to you, says that any discomfort is worth it. You know he'd only meant the physical sort, couldn't have taken the emotional into account, because your thoughts are spinning out of control. Close to you. Discomfort – physical, emotional; he's a deviant, hadn't he learned by now that emotions always screw everything up?

Guess not.

You look at him, all up and down his frame, at his smooth, flawless flesh, the freckles and the moles, all the well defined lines of his body. The wide, pretty expanse of his face, absolutely fucking confused, with his LED circling yellow.

Right. Maybe some other day you can wallow in your self pity, but not today.

You grab your shirt at the bottom and strip it off in one go, pull it up over your head and off your arms, tossing it to the side. You do the same with your shorts, kicking them into the same pile, and Connor smiles as you step into the bathtub, like you've got no reserves about it, sinking into the water resignedly. Connor's LED flashes blue as he smiles, and he grabs up the wash cloth before joining you.

The water is perfect, just hot enough. You take turns lathering each other up and scrubbing each other all over; he washes your hair, and you wash his (his hair, when wet, is softer and finer than silk), and whenever he has to shift about, turning one way or the other, his knee bumps into your leg, or his arm knocks into yours. He caresses you gently, fingers sliding over old scars, over your tattooed chest, though that's not your only ink; he asks a few questions, all of them personal, and you answer them, one by one.

Only then the brat leans close, breath cool on your wet cheek, and he slants a look at you through his lashes – you gulp. Realize right in that moment just how in over you head your are, vaguely aware that this is the sort of thing you'll never come back from.

He looks down at your lips as he licks at his own, then lifts his eyes to yours. 'You missed a spot, Lieutenant.'

'Oh?' you ask.

He looks askance, no longer making eye contact. 'I'm dirty, Hank. I need to be cleaned on the inside.' And god, you gulp again, blood running hot. 'Please – I need your help.'

You're pretty sure he could do it himself – hell, you could imagine it already, him leaning back with one hand braced against the wall, one foot against the side of the tub. Baring himself to you, putting on some sort of fucking show. You wouldn't be remiss.

And yet...

You slide a hand down to the back of his neck, tug him closer. He presses his lips to yours, and you close your eyes as you kiss him, as he eagerly kisses you, rubbing your hands all along his back, sliding them all the way down to squeeze at his ass.

And he's closer now, not quite as close as possible, but your bodies are touching again, this time in some really great places. You feel the first warm stirring of arousal, the tightness in your gut, but you've came recently so you don't even know if you can get it all the way up. Connor, though, he's up already, his dick is pressed up between your stomachs, hard and wet. Whenever one of you moves, he lets out breathy gasp, or maybe a soft moan.

You draw back, stroking a hand through his hair, toying with the soft, silky strands. Your voice doesn't shake as you give him your answer: 'Okay.'

He smiles, smiles so sweetly, timid and a little unsure, but there's something devious and dark in the chocolate brown of his eyes that absolutely blows that illusion of innocence out of the water. It makes you shudder, has you biting back a moan, because Connor looking at you like that, it does things to you. He rearranges himself, kneels between your spread legs, bumps up against you with his dick, slick with water and more of that synthetic pre-come that had tasted a little like nothing. It's a little heavier than water, whatever it's made of. Probably thirium-based, like his blood.

You don't grasp it, you can't, because he's fucking wild for you and you're – you're old, you're a deadbeat, you're a drunk, some days you don't even want to be _alive_. Maybe in your prime, you'd understand this sort of response from one of your – your lovers – and Connor seems sincerely _into you_ , can't seem to get enough. Like it doesn't matter that you're old, and tired, and depressed. That you aren't ageing well at all.

As if he can sense your hesitation, he tips your chin up, eyelashes fluttering as he presses his lips to yours. You kiss him again, softly, sweetly, and Connor smiles as he draws away from you, licking at his lips. He turns away, leans so his forehead is pressed to your shoulder, a steady, comforting weight. His hands, as wet as anything else, grip at yours arms.

'Are you sure this is…?'

'Soap your hand up nice and good, Lieutenant.'

'Connor – '

'Lieu – '

' _Hank_ , geez.'

' _Hank_. The soap will not cause any damage, if that's what you are so worried about. Please, while I thank you for your concern, I…' He wiggles, shaking his ass, rubbing and grinding against you. 'I want you to do this for me, please.'

'Okay.' This time, your voice is a little ragged, rougher than usual.

You slide your hands down, get another handful of his perfectly formed ass. It feels so real in hands, hotter because of the water, and you squeeze it, listening to the appreciative sounds he makes as you do. They get a whole lot hotter as you press a finger into him, breathy little gasps and soft little moans that have your dick twitching, just to react. He's hot, perfectly tight, as well as a fuckton more adjectives that your mind is unhelpful enough not to supply, thanks a lot. The way he's reacting, all because of you, it's got you shuddering, it's got you biting back moans of your own.

A few more gasps, as you wiggle that finger around inside him. Time for two, you decide, driving into him, driving him into exhaling, sharp, rougher gasps, a little like he's close to losing control – and maybe you wouldn't have believed it, but these last few hours, they sure as hell have been an eye opener.

You continue to wiggle your fingers about, and Connor lets out a low, plaintive whine. 'You're close,' he mutters. 'So close.'

'Close?

'Just… don't stop, please. Just… you're _close_.' He's wide-eyed now, a little frustrated with himself and his inability to say it the way he _needs_ to say it.

'Come on, Connor, show me what you want.'

Looking at the evidence as it's been presented, CyberLife was a company full of perverts and you have an idea as to what he's getting at. A little bit of searching, of Connor moving along with you, parallel to you, _there_ , and then you find it, as you thrust three fingers into him. There's a hot little bundle of wires that are textured differently from the rest of his hot, smooth insides, the ones that were currently gripping so tightly at your fingers. Yep, CyberLife really had thought of fucking everything – of course their state of the art investigative android needed a prostate, for fuck's sake.

Connor whines again, and the grip he'd had on your arms tightens as you massage at him with your fingers. You find you're curious as to what other sorts of sounds he's going to make. He pants, he moans, he whimpers when you push too hard, a little too roughly, and he gasps your name, _Hank!_ , as he throws his head back, clenching around you and coming in hot spurts.

–  
–

After the bath, you towel each other off. You shoot a look around the room, feeling uneasy – the place looked great, hell, before Connor had moved in, this had been a real shit-hole. Grime in the cracks, mildew on the tile, and that was just the state of the bathroom; keeping the place tidy wasn't exactly one of your priorities. Connor had gone through your house like an actual cleaning machine, after downloading a few protocols that would have better suited a housekeeping-unit, saying it was what he wanted to do even when you insisted he _not_ , and some of the colors you'd been used to seeing, there were brighter shades hiding underneath. You hadn't asked for his help, you hadn't wanted it – but maybe you'd needed it, you certainly needed _him_ – but he'd kept on offering it, even when you told him to stop.

There'd been a hole in your life, undefinable. And Connor, he fit it. Fit you.

So you tried to go easier on him, say yes some of the time instead of no, no, no.

You could ask him if he felt like he'd made a mistake, but the timing isn't exactly right.

'Lieutenant?' His voice was soft, but it still startles you from your thoughts. 'Is something wrong?'

You look at him like you know something has changed, and Connor – your android, your lover? You didn't want to make a bigger dick of yourself than you usually did and presume anything, because he certainly wasn't your _boyfriend_ , but you liked the idea, you liked it a lot. You shake your head, running a hand back through slightly-damp hair.

'It's nothing.'

He hadn't looked convinced.

You're waterlogged, fingers like prunes. There's fresh bruises on your arms from where Connor had grabbed you, aching dully, but you really don't mind. You've been marked… yeah, you like it a lot. Maybe he really was right about the _discomfort_ , it being worth it. He traces from spot to spot with his fingers, and you shiver as he presses on one, just a little too hard.

He looks up, tentatively licking at his plump bottom lip. 'Is that okay?'

You nod, eyes fluttering. 'Yeah.'

'Alright.' He's speaking very softly. 'I don't want to hurt you.'

'I'm tougher than I look.'

'That's beside the point, Hank.' His fingers on your skin, tracing up your arm, pressing firm across your shoulder, light again as they curve up along the line of your neck. He gentles his fingers through your beard, scratching at the scruff, and you give up and close your eyes, leaning into the pressure of his hand. God, it feels good. Being touched – someone _wanting_ to touch you. You'd like to tell him to back off because all this can lead to is heartbreak and despair, but you want to be wrong. You've never felt so desperate to be _wrong_.

'I know this has all happened very quickly,' he says, and he's still speaking very softly – a little like he's unsure of what he's saying, only, it needs to be said. 'Are you sure you aren't hungry? I wouldn't mind making you something – '

You shake your head, decisive. 'Let's go back to bed.'

He stares at you, like you'd said the most shocking thing possible, and not the fucking obvious. 'What?' You'd started to turn away from him, but you'd left your arm stretching towards him, your hand angling for his.

He blinks. 'You… you want me to…?'

'To join me? Of course I do. Why, were you expecting me to tell you to get the fuck out of my sight and go back to sleeping on the couch? You don't just…' You stumble over the words, this shouldn't be that difficult. 'I mean, after what we did…. Geez. I'm not that much of a fucking bastard, okay?'

The way Connor's staring at you, who knows what he'd been thinking; but he's sure to have been thinking something. He shrugs, half a smile on his lips. 'Okay. I had of course considered that outcome, and yet… I hadn't wanted to be presumptuous. I apologize.'

'Don't worry.' You chuckle, waggling your eyes at him. Connor blinks, then laughs. It's warm and rich sounding, and you could count on one hand the occasions you'd heard him laugh. So he doesn't do it often, and you find yourself wishing that he would. That you needed to give him more reasons to do it, instead of you always being depressed, a drunkard, a real piece of fucking shit.

'It's fine, okay? Just fine. Just… don't worry, got it?'

'I… got it.' He winks, the little shit. 'Still, I… pardon my uncertainty. I fear I'm mostly unfamiliar with post-coital etiquette. Everything seems to have… changed. I did have a plan, Hank, but… but it didn't go as expected.' He stares at you, and then down at your hand, still waiting for him to grab it – your arm is starting to get a little tired. He grabs for you decisively, giving your hand a tight squeeze. 'Alright, I am ready now, Lieutenant – take me to bed.'

You blush pink as Connor grins.

He always _knows_.

–  
–

You wake a few times throughout the night. Once, Connor's not even in sleep-mode. He'd been turned on his side, watching you as you slept – you wouldn't have even known but his LED was still glowing blue (usually, when he was in stasis stand-by sleep-mode whatever, the glow was much dimmer), and it startled you, because for a moment there you'd forgotten that there was someone else in the bed with you – it'd been a long fucking time. So you'd scowled at him, groggy and a little bit surly, told him to get some fucking rest, before you'd turned away from him and punched your pillow once, then again, before you decide it's comfortable enough and flopped back down.

Another time, it's when Sumo's come into the bedroom. There's less space in the bed than usual, so he circles a few time down at the foot of it, shifting the mattress about, before settling down to sleep. You get up that time, because you need to piss, and it's some sort of miracle that Sumo hadn't moved into your spot while you were gone.

Yet another time, you're still curled on your side, and Connor's pressed up behind you, breath warm against the nape of your neck. You know that's one of the myriad things he can switch off with a thought – he doesn't actually have to _breathe_ – but you're sure as hell glad he decided to leave it on, otherwise it might have felt like you were in bed with a corpse.

You knew it was him, that time, remembered you weren't alone in bed with just the dog for company. And it was nice, fucking glorious, it was the best you'd felt in ages. One of his arms is draped over you, and you ended up blushing despite it all. The light's still on out in the hall, and the door is cracked, but you can see – how his hand is curled, loosely, in front of you. You've rarely seen him so relaxed.

And sure, maybe he's turned you into the little spoon, what the actual fuck, but you're comfortable and you feel _good_ , so who the fuck cares?

Connor gets out of bed at some point, but he moves so quietly, so carefully, he doesn't wake you up. You rouse later on, to the smell of bacon and coffee, but you don't want to move, just want to melt back down into the bed. This is the best sleep you've had in months, even while in general you'd been sleeping better since Connor had moved in with you. Because he was taking care of you, and you were trying to take better care of yourself.

You flop over onto your other side, slide your hand against the rumpled sheets. The bed's gone cold, Connor's been gone for a while. Sumo was gone, too.

You laze there for just a short while longer, before getting up. Stretching, rubbing at your eyes. You're still a little tired, you did just wake after all, but you mostly feel well-rested. It's… nice. Fucking amazing.

Connor's standing in the kitchen at the stove, still wearing the shorts and shirt combo he'd worn last night when he'd climbed into your bed (you weren't really into sleeping in the nude, and Connor had clothes of his own but never passed up an opportunity to wear some of yours). Sumo's tail is wagging in his sleep, he's curled up beside his food and water bowls, both of them close to empty. Connor must have fed and watered him before starting to make you breakfast; bet he took him out for a walk, too.

You're sure Connor's heard you, his audio processors are better than any human's ears. But he doesn't speak up, shifting the spatula about in the pan. His hair's ruffled up, you've rarely seen him so messy, and you think you'd like to see him a whole lot messier, completely wrecked. You think he'd even let you. You really would like to try.

He looks comfortable, looks like he belongs. It's not like you had any plans on kicking him to the curb, he's been here long enough to be a live in fixture. But now you're sure, there's no doubt in your mind, you want him to stay.

'Good morning, Lieutenant.' He doesn't turn to look at you, attention otherwise focused on the frying pan and your less than state of the art stove. It's seen better days. 

'Morning, Connor.'

'Your coffee is on the table. Breakfast won't be much longer... I'm sorry, I miscalculated. I'd hoped to be finished before you awoke – '

You step up behind him, wrapping your arms around him and leaning your cheek against his. 'Don't be sorry, Connor. You're not my fucking housekeeper, you're not my fucking cook. All these things you do? I appreciate 'em, but they're not why I keep you around.'

He leans against you, warm and firm. 'I know they aren't, Hank.'

But did he really? He sounded hesitant, like he wasn't absolutely sure. 'And it was nice and all and I hope it happens again, but it's got nothing to do with the sex. Just so you know.'

You let go of him and he moves the frying pan off of the heat, setting it to the side. He turns around, smiling softly, eyes darker than usual – but then, the light in the kitchen isn't the best. Maybe it's got something to do with the color of the walls. Maybe you're just trying to pay attention to anything else in the room, when all you should be paying attention to is him.

'Thank you, Hank. I – I really wasn't sure if… You know. I don't _know_.' He frowns, shaking his head. 'Words are very simple, in theory, and yet, in practice…'

'Yeah, I get that too. Never know what to fucking say.'

'Well, sit down, please. I'll plate up your food – let me know if the coffee needs anything else.' Like he doesn't know your preferences already, as if.

'Sure, Connor. Just…' You reach out, taking his hand. He blinks, staring at you, lips parted.

'Yes?'

You grin, leaning in close, and press a kiss to his cheek, soft and chaste. He lets out a little sigh, and when you pull back, you see that his eyes have slipped shut. He looks… peaceful. Happy. You like happy Connor. He needs to be happy all the fucking time.

'Yeah?'

His eyes open slowly. 'I like the scratch of your beard against my skin. It feels…'

'It feels?'

He shrugs, finishing lamely, '...nice.'

You chuckle. 'Nice.'

'My integrated dictionary contains over 20 million words, in over five hundred different languages, and yet I find it… lacking, in this instance.' He looks away, demurely, and you put a hand on his arm. He sighs very softly, lashes fluttering. 'This really didn't go as I'd planned. I'd thought… I don't really know what I thought.'

He looks a little lost, in the moment. And it reminds you, that, after everything else, he still just wants a place to belong.

'Well, remember this: always expect the unexpected.'

His brow crinkles as he frowns, LED flickering yellow. A moment later, it slips over to blue. 'Oh, well – I suppose that does make some sort of sense. I…'

He presses his hand to your chest, just above your heart. 'A lot of the ways you touch me, whether you mean it or not – they feel very nice. I would like you to continue to touch me, please, Hank, as much as you'd like.'

'I – ' You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. 'Okay.'

He turns to look at you again, smile close to blinding, hand dropping away, and him? He's glowing, he's absolutely fucking radiant. 'Now please,' he continues, voice taking on a firmer tone, 'eat your breakfast before it gets cold.'

So you do.

He takes a seat across from you. He doesn't have to eat but you like the company, and the small talk that sometimes accompanies it (he can drink stuff in small amounts, because it gets absorbed, and he likes to sample things some times, just because he can). Today, Connor's just staring at you with a soft smile on his lips, watching your every move as you ingest the food he'd prepared – three egg whites, a couple strips of low-sodium bacon, as well as a pile of hash browns – and you're trying your damndest not to let it get to you. You let the insecurity in, you're gonna make a fool of yourself, you'll end up pushing him away. It'd be too fucking easy to be overwhelmed, and fucking it all up, that's just what you _do_.

Anyhow… it's nice ( _nice_ ) to be the center of someone's attention, for once. Something good, and positive.

You drop the cutlery and push the plate away from you, pick up your coffee cup and drain the rest of it. You used to keep that picture of Cole on the kitchen table, a constant reminder – of who you were, of what you'd never been, of what you'd lost. You'd moved it into the living room a few months after Connor had moved in, it had seemed… too heavy. Connor was trying to make things make, make _you_ better, and maybe you should have resented that but you sure as fuck did _not_.

Cole would be happy for you, for being happier. Wouldn't think you some sort of fucking bastard for daring to _live again_.

'Well?' Connor asks, and you pick up the napkin he'd left out to wipe at your face.

'It was good. Thanks.'

It falls flat, and Connor notices. But then, Connor notices most everything. His chair scrapes across the floor as he pushes back and stands, and you turn to look at him, feeling the tightness in your chest, feeling the sting in your eyes. His fingers trail along the table's edge, and he stops beside your chair, grabbing onto it and pulling it out. You really never think about how strong he is, because he moves your chair without effort, turning it to the side.

'Connor – '

He leans in, lifting his leg slightly, resting his knee against the edge of the chair, between your legs. You gulp, lifting your head up, to find him smiling down at you. He lifts a hand up to press it back through your hair, and you sigh, leaning into it. He continues to card his fingers through your hair, a little like he was petting Sumo. It was a weird comparison to make, but you don't mind it. Fuck it all, you like it a lot. Then he's kissing you, slowly, softly, opening your mouth with the silken flick of his tongue. You groan into it, but right as it's getting really good, he stops.

'There's something I'd like to do for you, if you'd let me.'

'Oh?' Your voice is a little rough. The feel of his fingers on your scalp, scratching gently. You hum a little at the pleasant sensation, pressing back into the touch.

He pulls back, and you jerk your head back up, disappointment coiling inside you. He's taken a step back, but before you get a chance to ask him what's going on, he drops down onto his knees, and you gulp again, because why the fuck not? 'Connor.'

'I know that, as a human, your refractory period is nothing like my own, and – '

'Yeah, thanks for pointing that out.'

Connor, in return, gives you a very pointed look, shaking his head as he sighs, which somehow manages to work even with him down on his knees. 'Hank, please. I wasn't insulting you, simply pointing out one of the ways our bodies differ. As we finished off differently last night, when you'd… when you'd _come inside me_ ,' he whispers, his cheeks burning hot red, 'I…'

He sets his hand on your knee, gives it a squeeze. His other presses against your crotch, as all the blood in your body redirects south. 'I'd like to try this too – and this time, I'd like you to finish in my mouth.'

'Jesus, Connor.' Either he doesn't know what he says, because he doesn't have the right sort of experience, or he _does_ , and Hank's willing to play right into his hand. Or mouth. Whatever. 'Right here?'

Something wicked sparkles in Connor's eyes, even with the blush. Yeah, he's perfectly aware of the things he keeps saying, since Hank keeps reacting the way he wants. 'Yes, right here.'

You blink, then laugh. And sure, because you're you, you're already struggling against the desire to tell him to quit it already and get back up, you don't want to disappoint. You really do want to help Connor experience all the things he'd like. Yet another new experience, with you.

'Okay, alright. Let's go.'

He's smiling at you like he couldn't be anywhere better than this, in between your legs with that hand of his on your knee, squeezing firmly. He touches your groin with the other, just sets his hand there and holds himself steady; your heart is starting to pound and you're mouth is getting dry. His LED flickers blue to yellow and then back again, and you wouldn't be surprised if he was analyzing the texture of your shorts, anazlying _you_.

'Well?'

He blinks, grinning nervously. 'I don't want to rush myself, sorry.' He starts rubbing his hand in small concentric circles, and you were going to tell him there was no need for him to be sorry, but suddenly you're swallowing a moan instead.

'Hank – if you want to react, please do. There's no need for you to hold it in.'

He goes back to rubbing you, squeezing gently and then more firmly, sighing softly at the feel of it, as your dick starts to swell beneath his touch. When Connor squeezes too tight, you hiss out a warning, _gentle_ , and he complies. Too soon, he tires of the obstruction your shorts present. Tells you to sit up a little, and he hooks his fingers into the elastic bands, tugging them down quickly and tossing them aside.

He hardly gives you time to breathe. He leans in, sliding his hands back, one of them a little damp, sticking against your hairy upper thigh. He closes his eyes, LED flicking to yellow as he breathes in deeply. 'Connor,' you groan, because that shouldn't be so hot. But it is. Because it's Connor, acting so demurely, kneeling like he's an innocent – and sure, in a way, he is. But in so many others, he's not.

His tongue flicks out, pink and wet, as one hand wrapped around your shaft, nestled down into your pubes. Slides against the slit, licks at the pre-come that was already beading at the slit. 'Connor,' another groan, and you run a hand into his smooth, soft hair, fisting hold of it. 'Good, that's – that's good, yeah,' you moan.

He doesn't move forward, though he hums a moan of his own around you, pleased at the praise you'd given him already. He's sucking at the crown of your cock, soft, wet tongue sliding against it. You shudder with a low groan, stroking your hand through his hair. You grit your teeth together as you lean your head back, feel the chair against the back of your neck, the only thing that's keeping you from falling down.

'Connor. _Connor_. Come on, please.'

He hums around the flesh in his mouth, and you groan again, a little louder, a little lost, as he rocks forward and leans in, taking even more of you in. Now there's slick wetness running all down the length of your dick, synthetic saliva all mixed up with your pre-come, spilling down over Connor's hand.

' _Connor_ '.

You're reminded, yet again, he doesn't have gag reflex. He doesn't have to pull back, he can stay like that, mouth stuffed full of your dick, and he does for a while – not moving, simply feeling. His tongue slips about, lazily almost, slipping and sliding. You tug at his hair, not rough – just playful – and he groans. The reverberation rocks up through you, centered as it is on your dick. He pulls back, sliding upwards – the slow drag of his lips, the firm stroke of his tongue, just the fucking hint of teeth. You tug harder on his hair, and he moans. You groan. 'God, Connor. _Please_.'

He begins to speed up. Rocking back, you almost spill out of his mouth, but his lips form a tight ring right at the tip, there's no escape. He sucks a little harder, starts stroking up and down with his hand, wet and warm. Your hand in his hair tightens, and you pull harder than you'd meant to, gripping at the wrist attached to the hand that's still squeezing your knee.

'Fuck, fuck,' you groan. 'That's good, Connor, that's fucking good.'

Another delighted hum, and then he's speeding up a little bit more, head bobbing down and then up. You feel the tightness in your balls, the growing force of your impending orgasm. Only then he slows down, stretches it out, slides his slick hand off of your cock and teases at your balls. 'Ah, fuck. Fuck, Connor.'

He chuckles around you, rocking forward to take you all in, pistoning backwards until your dick's nearly popped free of his mouth. Surges forwards and takes you back in, swallows you all the way back down. You're squeezing his wrist and all but yanking on his hair as he keeps on working you into a frothy mess. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 'Connor!' You buck up into his mouth as you come, his mouth still working on you, sucking you absolutely fucking dry. The chair rocks up and drops back down heavily, and Connor's still sucking you, licking you.

He rearranges your hand, and he threads his fingers with yours. You let out a few breathy moans as he milks your poor over-sensitized dick. And he leans back, lets go of you with a deliciously wet pop. Looks up at you with his hair all fucked up, wiping a hand across the mess of drool and come that's running down his chin.

'What the actual fuck.'

'Did I do something wrong?'

'God, what, no. Get up here.'

You try to help pull him up but he's a lot more graceful than you are, and he also didn't just have his brain sucked out his dick. Oh, but that's an idea. 'Connor.' He carefully settles down on your lap, sliding an arm around your neck. He presses his mouth to yours, and your own sharp, salty, musky taste is on his tongue.

You're breathless. 'So how much of that was you analyzing my heart rate and making sure I didn't go into cardiac fucking arrest, and how much of it was you giving me the best fucking blowjob of my life?'

He smirks, like he's not the one who looks close to totally debauched. '50/50, I guess.'

'Ah, for fuck's sake.' You lean your head back, as he twists his fingers into your hair, and gives a happy tug. You're tingling all over, the orgasm was intense, but now all you want to do is melt into the chair and never move again. 'I need a nap.'

'Did I do a good job?' he asks, not that he gives you any chance to answer him, the little shit. 'Hank, I think I did a very good job – though I'm certainly there was, of course, room for improvement.' You bet he's already making notes for next time. _Thorough_.

'Connor, geez, can you just… afterglow, okay? It's a thing, look it up.'

Sumo boofs, mid-dream, and his head flops back down onto the floor. 'And hell – next time, let's not do this in front of the dog.'

–  
–

You snooze for a while on the sofa as Connor tidied up the kitchen, and wake to the sound of the front door being gently closed. You open your eyes a fraction, feeling heavy with sleep, ready to fall right back under. Connor's making small-talk with Sumo as he unhooks his leash, and hangs it back up on the wall. You could have gone with them too – hadn't taken a walk earlier that morning, right, who why not? – but Connor had insisted that your orgasm counted in your favor, given the amount of calories that you'd burned.

Connor laughs as Sumo jumps up, almost knocking him down. He kneels down and ruffles the dog's fur, pressing his face into Sumo's big fluffy chest. 'Who's a good boy?'

Sumo barks happily.

'That's right! Sumo's a good boy!'

It's probably the cutest thing you'd ever seen.

'Hey,' you mumble, rubbing at the sleep in your eyes. 'You took Sumo for a walk?'

Sumo's excitement reignites at the sound of your voice. He barks happily and bounds towards you, with Connor still down on his knees, a glimmer in his dark eyes as he laughs. You sit up as Sumo tries jumping up onto you, and take his face in your hands and give him a good rub. 'Yeah, Connor's right. You're a good boy, Sumo.'

He barks in your face, and licks your cheek.

'But your breath really does leave something to be desired…'

Connor laughs again, standing at the other end of the sofa. 'Come on, Sumo, I bet you want some food.' At the sound of the word 'food', Sumo boofs, and takes off at rocket speed, nails clicking against the tile floor.

You flop back down, and drape an arm across your face. Connor hums as he refills the water, and pours Sumo some of his kibble. You yawn, rubbing at your cheek, looking around the living room. The spot from the beer spill is still pretty obvious, a little off color from the surrounding carpet, though it's dried. Maybe you should rent a carpet cleaner… next weekend, maybe. You'll ask Connor eventually, see what he thinks.

The sofa sags when Connor sits at the far end – you move your arm, peering down the way at him. 'Hey.'

He smiles, and pushes a hand back into his hair. It's extra wavy today, and you want to run your hands through it. 'Hey. Did you have a nice nap?'

'Mhmm.'

'Good.' The cushions shift again as he stands back up. 'I was thinking that, since we have the day off, we should go grocery shopping – we should make the best of our free time.'

'God, Connor,' you groan. 'Don't you know when to quit?'

There's a laugh in his voice as he replies, 'My apologies, Lieutenant. Even though my original programming has changed since going deviant, it seems some things are going to stay the same. I don't always know what to do with myself when there's nothing for me to do.'

'Jerk.'

He grins. 'That's fair enough, I suppose.' He takes you by the hand, tugs, eyes bright and eager. 'Come on. I'll drive, if you don't feel like it?'

'You just want to be the one behind the wheel, for once.'

'Am I honestly that transparent?'

You open an eye, peering up at him. 'That's not a bad thing, I guess.' Back in the earlier days, when he hadn't lived at yours long, and you were still drinking out more than you were drinking in, Connor would sometimes drive you to the bar, give you a deadline, and then pick you up later on, right on time. You do let him drive, just, he doesn't often ask to do it.

You don't know. Maybe he likes being chauffeured around. 

He tugs on your arm again, grinning, and you start to get up. 'Alright, alright. We can go shopping, get this bullshit out of the way.' You lean into him, sliding an arm around him, pulling him in tight. 'But first…' You tilt your head to the side, press a kiss to his lips. He makes a small, soft sound, and eagerly opens his mouth to yours.

Presses in eagerly, wrapping his arms around you. 'You make me very happy, Hank Anderson.' More soft kisses, some sweet, some messy and deep. You slide a hand into his hair, and Connor leans into it as you caress him; you're still amazed by its impossible softness. 'I don't know… oh. What are you doing?'

You'd settled that hand on his shoulder, the other resting lightly at his hip. You spin him around, and his eyes – dark now, and curious – watch your every movement. 'Oh – oh, I see. But I rather think we should…' He pries the hand loose from his hip, and threads his fingers with it. Stretches your arms out, stepping carefully as you spin him around again, slowly, carefully, in a long, slow circle. 'This feels more natural. I think?'

'Haven't had a reason to dance in a decade or so,' you say. You don't even want to think about the last time, so you shove those pressing thoughts to the side. The present, with Connor, is much, _much_ better.

He's paying more attention to your feet than he is to your face, though he does look up at you, from time to time; sometimes, his LED flickers from blue, to yellow, to blue. 'Well, this is my first time ever. Does this dance of yours have a name?'

'Fuck if I know.' It's been a _long_ time. You're combining moves you remember with ones you're sure you never learned, and yet, it still feels good. You've never been light on your toes, but Connor's effortlessly graceful – you envy him that.

Maybe it feels better because it's Connor you're dancing with.

His LED flickers yellow. 'I could – '

He could search the internet and download a how-to guide, know 100 different dances in just a few seconds. Somehow, that'd be missing the entire fucking point. 'No! Uh… no.' You draw him in a little closer, feet fumbling as you try to get it right, not that Connor lets you stumble all that much – he steadies the both of you before you have a chance to fall. 'I mean, uh, maybe we could take a class? Together. That could be fun?' You really hadn't meant for that last bit to come out as such a needy question.

He purses his lips in thought, as his LED cycles yellow a couple more times before returning to cool, calm blue. 'I'd like that. Couples that share hobbies…' He trails off, lifting his eyes to yours. And he asks, with utter innocence and sincerity, 'Are we a couple now, Hank?'

You pull back, and Connor's eyes widen. There's a hint of a frown on his lips. 'Hank?'

You shrug, you're almost at a loss for words; but you're having a good day, maybe your best day ever, and if Connor wants to try dating you then you're all for it – because if it all falls apart, at least you'll be able to say that you tried. (And it'll have been your fault it didn't work out, that part you already know.) 'Yeah, I mean, if you want to? That'd be fine by me.'

He looks a little perturbed, like you've said the right thing in the completely wrong way. 'Fine by you?'

You regret it immediately, having put it like that. 'I'm not good at this stuff, Connor. If you wanna try, then sure, let's try. Just… you gotta know, I'm really good at fucking this sort of thing up.' Because you're you. You don't think he'd get it, so you decide not to mention it – it's enough that you know, as if you could ever forget.

'Well, I doubt you'd want to _fuck this up_ for me, so I'm going to have to expect you to try extra hard. Okay?' No nonsense, as if you could, but only for him. And yet, trying… trying, it doesn't have to hurt.

(From time to time, everything hurts.)

You laugh, and he smiles, and you lean your forehead against his as the both of you continue to drift about, arm in arm. 'Yeah, okay. Sure.'

–  
–

You're letting the shopping cart bear the brunt of your weight as you lean into it, watching as Connor compares nutritional information on two boxes of similar yet very different products, when a thought pops into your head. Way in over your head? That's putting it lightly. You're fucking _whipped_ , whenever you do what Connor wants because it makes him happy.

And it started a whole hell of a lot sooner than yesterday, with him putting the moves on you.

But, what does that say about Connor? You're not that blind, because for some fucking reason your happiness comes second to none, not even his own (well, there's Sumo too, of course). When you're not happy, it fucking _shows_. Connor trying to fix whatever it is you've managed to fuck up.

Connor taking care of you, and Sumo, and making your house feel like a properly lived in _home_.

He bites at his lip, LED yellow as he makes his comparison between the different brands. You'd both changed before leaving the house. While you'd thrown on any old thing because it really didn't matter – it was clean, that's what was important – Connor had put a little more thought into it. Connor was sporting your old Detroit Police hoodie over a pair of black skinny jeans which clung to him indecently. His worn Doc Martens were another thrift store purchase. They're black, and they sparkle.

'Well, what's it gonna be?'

'My apologies, Hank,' Connor sighs. 'The differences are negligible… this blend has slightly more protein, while this has slightly more fiber. Hank, have you had any trouble with your digestion – '

'Ah, fuck it, Connor. I'll take the cheesy potato stuff, okay? We've tried it before, it was fine.'

Connor beams as he places one box back on the shelf, and sets the other into the shopping cart.

'Yeah, yeah, whatever…' You shove the cart along, and Connor falls into step beside you. 'What's next?' They'd already picked up Sumo's kibble – the extra healthy, organic stuff, made with real meat and veggies, that dogs of all ages went gaga over (that's what the packaging said). It didn't smell half bad, and Sumo certainly loved it.

'That's the last of the dry goods. I suggest we move onto the fresh produce.'

'Whatever.'

But he's still smiling as he takes the lead, and you've got a similar look on your face as he heads towards the fruits and veggies. Of course, that makes it look like you're staring at his ass, and whatever, maybe he knew exactly what he was doing when he walked out in front of you.

You blush. It's… frustrating, and you feel a little helpless, but… nice? It's also very nice, and yeah, that's sure as fuck not the right word, but don't really care. You speed up to catch up with him, until Connor stops again to start picking up and squeezing different melons.

'Jesus, Connor.'

'What? This is accepted procedure when it comes to procuring the ripest melons.' He pauses, his hand curling into a fist. 'Thumping the melon lightly is acceptable as well.'

–  
–

Parking the car out front of the house led to you and Connor carrying the bagged groceries inside. Connor carried more, like it was no big deal (he was an android, it was literally no big deal). That hadn't stopped you from filling up your own arms, determined to carry your own weight. Connor did too much for you already, and you don't want it to look like you're taking advantage.

Speaking of him doing too much for you, he asks you what you want for lunch – not that you can make up your mind. You suggest a salad, just to see what sort of reaction it sparks – and sure, he gives a little grin, but he otherwise seems unaffected (you're going to have to try harder, and now, because you tried to get a rise out of him the way he does with you, you have to eat a _salad_. Fucking great). He takes your suggestion, and goes to rummage around in the fridge.

Lunch happens (a salad, as well as a sandwich, neatly cut in half, diagonally), and the rest of the afternoon passes by peacefully. You eat, and Connor snuggles up beside you, staring at the tv and flicking through the channels with a thought until you both agree on something and settle into watch.

The snuggling, you decide, is really fucking nice. It's not like you haven't done it before, well, practically – while Connor was sorting himself out, he found he liked that sort of physicality, and hell, so did you. He was tactile. He talked about it sometimes, how the longer he was deviant, the more he could feel. You knew it must have had some sort of impact on the bad stuff, too. Connor still loved that update of his that let him dream, but with dreams, came nightmares – you still remember the first time you'd ever held him as he sobbed, LED red the whole time. That was the first night he'd ever slept in your bed, it's not like you were gonna leave him on the couch after something like that. He loved learning, and experiencing new things, and he was really taken by simple, pleasurable things, all the good things in life. Petting Sumo, or setting his hand on yours, or your arm, not even bothered by all the hair.

And him, sitting back, urging you with a soft touch, and a softer murmur of words. You turn to look at him as he tucks both his legs up on the couch. You fumble for the remote, but Connor gets there first and switches it off with a flicker of his LED. Connor grins, petting your arm.

'I could have gotten that,' you mumble.

'It's nothing to worry about, Lieutenant. I just… could we…' He starts to lean in, eyes flicking to yours, moving very cautiously. You catch onto what he's doing, and you take him by the wrist, pull him over to you. He's draped over your chest now, a warm, solid presence, his face so close to yours. Your heart starts beating about a mile a minute, and Connor blinks slowly, licking across his lips. Your taken in by the whole of it, and all the little pieces. The light dusting of freckles, his impossibly soft lips. The eyes that are so dark, so deep, so _human_ , it makes you ache.

'Connor…'

'Hank.'

'Connor, I – '

Sometimes, sure, you'd wished this sort of thing would happen, wished it with every fiber of your being. That someone would be able to put up with you enough that they'd want to be physically intimate with you, because fuck, it sure as hell had been a long time. Sometimes, you'd even thought about it being Connor. And right now, because he's about to kiss you, your brain's getting ready to short out.

You really need to stop thinking so damned much.

He pushes in closer, eyes on yours before his lashes flutter, slipping shut.

All the snuggling's been nice, but you very quickly find out that, making out on the couch? Slowly, with no pressure at all, like you've got all the fucking time in the world?

Yeah, it's a whole lot better than that.

**Author's Note:**

> Posting is always traumatic for me, I'm going to dig a hole and bury myself now, goodbye.


End file.
